


People Like Us

by StateOfMindx



Series: Skylines [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Kid Fic, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, The Author Regrets Nothing, Until Fury finds out, What happened in Bulgaria stays in Bulgaria, Where the heck was Hawkeye during the film?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:04:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StateOfMindx/pseuds/StateOfMindx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint, Natasha and deciding what to do after your world is blown to pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People Like Us

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Winter Soldier spoilers ahead.
> 
> This is the sort of sequel to Cityscapes, if you can't be bothered reading that first all you need to know is that Clint and Natasha have a daughter called Sofia that nobody apart from Coulson knows about.

Clint has to catch a commercial flight back from Hungary. His SHIELD extraction failed to materialise, Communications are in lockdown and Natasha’s not answering her cell. That, combined with the news footage of three Helicarriers crashing and burning over D.C, makes him antsy and irritable as he slumps into his seat for the ten and a half hour flight back to the States.

There’s a talkative older woman in the seat next to him, American and overly so, who mistakes the nervous tapping of his leg against the hard plastic of the floor for the fact that he’s a nervous flyer and takes it upon herself to reassure him. “You got family in New York, Honey?” she asks him as they ascend into the sky, referencing the place closest to the capital he could get with the temporary flight restrictions in place.

He shakes his head tersely, flicking the TV on the chair in front of him to the world news channel, muting the sound and hunching forward to read the subtitles. The footage they’re showing is grainy- the news helicopters aren’t allowed to get to close to SHIELD HQ but he can make out the tell-tale red, white and blue of the Cap’s costume and another guy he doesn’t recognise swooping around with a pair of giant wings attached to his back.

“Terrible isn’t it.” The woman next to him doesn’t appear to have registered his disinterest in conversation, “It's terrible that all these things keep happening to us honest hardworking Americans, isn't it. My granddaughter lives in Brooklyn and she was right in the middle of what happened last summer,” she sweeps the alien invasion and billions of dollars’ worth of damage aside with an impatient wave of her hand and looks so ready to continue that Clint cuts her off before she can give him an account of her entire family history,

“My daughter’s in D.C, actually.” He says forcefully, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh, of course,” the woman sounds genuinely sympathetic and Clint begins to regret the harshness of his tone.

“Look,” he starts to say, “I’m sorry…”

She cuts him off, “It’s alright, dear- I understand completely.” She pulls a book from a handbag hidden discreetly under the seat in front of her and he is left alone to his thoughts and the ever scrolling loop of white on black Times New Roman flashing across the television screen, detailing the latest on body counts and destruction.

He is dozing and they’ve just flown over Ontario when his half open eyes register Natasha’s face on the screen. He jolts, suddenly fully awake and scrambles to read the breaking news headline that accompanies her photograph, ‘SHIELD in massive data leak- members of the Avengers among files revealed.’ He grips the side of his chair a little more tightly and begins to formulate a plan in his mind.

They have twenty four safe houses scattered across the globe- from a place that’s little more than a shack in Siberia to a relatively modern flat in Exeter- six million in US dollars and four identities that not even SHIELD knows about each. In theory, going to ground should be easy but this new information, the history of Natasha’s assassinations and covert intelligence gathering (and, of course, if the press are to be believed, his file won’t be far behind) can only have made them more enemies.

The plane touches down at JFK with a barely noticeable jolt and he is one of the first to disembark, grabbing his carry-on and barely stopping to acknowledge his travelling companion’s muttered hopes that his family are okay. He flies through immigration- No he’s not carrying any drugs, no fresh fruit either, Jesus where do they even get these questions- and he’s out into the arrivals lounge before he’s stopped to draw breath.

He’s aware that he’s panicking slightly, adrenaline coursing round his body and clouding his thoughts. He takes a few deep breaths steadying himself. He’s trying to come up with the next logical step to his plan when he sees them sitting on the bench with the best view of the available exits. Natasha’s wearing a blonde wig, the false hair melding perfectly with that of their not quite four year old daughters who’s sitting on her knee. In the mere seconds it takes for him to wrap his arms around her, she’s standing with Sofia balanced on her hip.

She’d favouring her left side and there are a few scrapes and a bruise along her arms but it’s the babbling that worries him most. Natasha is always collected, always in control and the fact that she’s not means that there is something seriously wrong. “SHIELD’s gone.” She says, and he feels something icy in his chest, “We’re exposed and…and I don’t know.” She buries her face in his shoulder as Sofia looks on, her green eyes wide and innocent, “I have no idea what we do now.”

He holds her tighter and they stay pressed together for a long moment, reassuring each other with their closeness. They hold hands as they walk towards the rental car, something they haven’t done since they’d escaped to Rome after Manhattan and he swings Sofia over his shoulders where she sits crowing with delight and chattering about everything she can see from her newly gained vantage point. They feel normal. For a moment.

He drives and, once their daughter has drifted off in her car seat, turns to Natasha, “You went and had all the fun without me, didn’t you.” He says lightly, “I thought we had a rule, no tearing SHIELD to the ground without backup.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, a movement he has come to associate with her more vulnerable times, playful and childish, all the things she leaves behind when she becomes the Black Widow (because contrary to what people think, they’re two separate entities, his Tasha and the code-named killing machine). “I had back-up”

“Rogers and the guy with the wings, forgive me for my scepticism.”

“I had Hill.” She says, “And Fury too. He’s not dead, by the way- I probably should have told you.”

“I’d guessed.” He says, reaching out a hand and catching her wrist as she taps impatiently against the dashboard, lowering it and lacing his fingers around her own. “Fury dying’s about as likely as Stark displaying humility.”

She huffs in amusement, closing her eyes and scratching at her head before pulling off her wig in frustration. She tells him the story then, the whole sorry mess. From the Algerian pirates to uploading all SHIELD’s most confidential files on to the World Wide Web. He can’t help but be astounded at that, the fact that she would release all the horrific details of her past, but, even with a gun at her back, would take the time to purge anything relating to him from existence before sending the closest she had to a dirty bomb live.

The drive from New York to Washington normally takes four hours but the traffic’s busy and it’s nearer to five hours (and six rotations of a Springsteen album) by the time they park on a dirt track next to one of the city’s newer graveyards. Maria Hill is leaning up against a big black car with tinted glass, her hand resting on the nearly imperceptible shape of a gun in her jacket pocket. She’s in civilian clothes and Clint tries to remember the last time he saw her out of SHIELD uniform, 2002 maybe? When he’d been an upstart rookie and she’d taken his shit for all of five minutes before she’d kicked him in the balls and told him to start acting his age. There aren’t many senior agents he respects, but after that, she’d become one of them.

“Natasha,” Hill nods as they open the car doors, “Barton,” and then, “He’s clean?” she addresses Natasha who almost smiles,

“Please,” she snickers, “As if Hydra would have him.”

“True.” Hill pauses and then a look of alarm flashes across her face. “Did you two steal that car?” They look at her confused and she elaborates, “There’s a small child in the back and we really don’t need that kind of hassle right now.”

She looks so panicked that there’s nothing they can do in the face of the situation but laugh. “She’s Sofia,” Natasha says eventually, as Clint opens the door and picks the little girl out of the car seat and holds her as she prattles something about the seagulls perched in the tree across the clearing. “She’s…” Natasha searches for the words to explain, “She’s just Sofia.”

Hill seems to understand what they haven’t said and after a second of shock she smiles, the kind of smile rarely seen at SHIELD. It lights up her whole face making her seem less of Fury’s intimidating shadow and more like an actual human being. “She’s lovely.”

“She is.” Clint agrees seriously and then, “Do we have a situation report.”

Hill nods, back in business mode in an instant, “Fury, Rogers and Wilson – The guy with the wings, ex special forces,” she adds for Clint’s benefit, “Are planning their own next moves. Fury filled me in on the way over, but you might want to go up there now, Natasha- that’ll mean that between the two of you, you’ll have the full picture.”

Natasha nods and walks away without a backwards glance, picking her way around the tree roots with natural grace. After a moment Hill turns back to Clint, “I’ve been in contact with Stark.” She says, “We’ve got twelve thousand operatives worldwide and early estimates suggest that as many as forty percent are Hydra.”

“Jesus.”

Hill shakes her head slowly, “I know. We need to vet and re-vet everyone and until that point SHIELD’s down to the six of us, an egotistical consultant, an extra-terrestrial and whatever the hell Banner is.” She sighs, “We’re not going down without a fight, but it’s going to be a hard road back.”

Clint takes a deep breath, formulating his own ideas and factoring the conversation he’d with Natasha on the way into the equation, “What’s the plan?” he says eventually.

He sees a flicker of relief in Hill’s face, “For now,” she says, “We disappear. I’m going to work for Stark Industries. HR ostentatiously, but it’s really more of an exercise in information gathering – Potts is worried that they might be victims of the same infestation that we have just experienced

Clint is saved the bother of replying by the re-entry of Natasha and the rest of the fractured remains of SHIELD. Steve, first down the narrow path, glances at him and then does a double take as he spots Sofia, who, evidently bored, wriggles free from his arms and runs on unsteady legs towards her Mum.

He hears Fury chuckle softly, “I always thought that there was something fishy about that mission in Bulgaria ‘09” he says

“Fishy, in this case, meaning entirely fake, sir?” Clint asks dryly, “If it helps it was Coulson’s idea.”

“Sure,” Natasha, mutters, stroking Sofia’s hair gently, “Blame the dead guy.”

There’s a long silence in which Rogers looks between Sofia, and Natasha and the arrow necklace Clint had bought her in Budapest, before promptly turning bright red. Clint indicates Steve with his thumb, “What’s with the blushing?”

Natasha gives him an almost feral smirk, “It’s either because I kissed him the other day and he’s feeling awkward or because he’s visualising us having sex and it’s making him uncomfortable.”

Steve splutters, “You…” he looks between them, “You have a kid.”

Clint rolls his eyes, “No shit, Sherlock.” He says sardonically

“But,”

“But what,” Clint asks him, “It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change your mission. It just makes ours easier.”

The Cap furrows his eyebrows and Clint sends Natasha a look that says ‘you know what we’re going to do next, you’ve always known’ and when she nods in acquiesce, he explains it to the rest of them, “We become ghosts.” It’s simple really, “We blend in, we go and become normal people for a while.” Steve looks like he’s about to protest but Clint cuts across him with all the practice of frequent insubordination, “ _And_ , when you need us, you call, and we come back.”

There’s a long silence. The kind of silence that means the end of something and is only waiting for the words to make it official. In the end those are Fury’s, they fall into a natural line and he regards them, the shattered last remnants of an organisation that, as of that very moment, no longer exists, his mirrored lenses covering any emotions he might otherwise have displayed. “Good Luck, agents.” He says, then, almost as an afterthought, “And goodbye.”

They disband to their separate vehicles. He’s pulled across his seatbelt and stuck the gearbox into reverse, but it still feels like there’s something missing. That’s when Hill taps on the glass. Natasha rolls the window down and eyes her curiously, “Changed your mind about letting us go already?”

Hill regards her, “Not as such,” she hesitates, “It’s just that there’s one more mission for you. If you want it.” She hands her a file through the window and when Natasha lets out a funny sort of gasp he leans over and reads the coversheet sideways - **Coulson, Philip J.** It’s dated from after New York and as he steps down on the accelerator, pulling them out onto the highway he can taste a freedom he’s never felt before.

He reaches across and kisses her cheek. “Bring on the road, Tasha,” he says, exhilerated, “Bring on the future.” She laughs and suddenly it’s like they’re flying, “Cause whatever comes, we’re going to kick its ass”

~

Six months later and tired from a hunt that’s leading him nowhere Steve falls asleep in an apartment in London and wakes up to the sound of an envelope dropping through his letterbox. He picks it up apprehensively, peeling the sticky side open cautiously. There’s a picture inside, of a little girl with flyaway blonde hair wearing Captain America pyjamas and cuddling a dog with a crudely made eye patch sitting at an odd angle on its face.

He turns it over, “We get weird looks shouting after ‘Fury’ in the park,” it reads in Natasha’s elegant cursive, “But we’re good here, we’re happy.”

Steve smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Forever grateful for reviews.


End file.
